We Meet Under an Odd Circumstance, Old Man
by bwahminionra7
Summary: To properly understand the mess Jason Peter Todd has found himself in this time, one must rewind several hours to a time where everything was sunshine, rainbows and a doughnut. A very yummy, sugary doughnut.


His fingers feel numb from holding the gun's grip so hard. Knuckles turned white under the sheer amount of pressure they're under, he's not sure he can hold on this tightly for much longer; surely, either his bones or the gun will snap soon. He'd take a bet were he not so focused on what's down his sights.

To properly understand the mess Jason Peter Todd has found himself in this time, one must rewind several hours, to a time where everything was sunshine, rainbows and a doughnut. A very yummy, sugary doughnut.

[Time: 1503

Location: Anonymous bakery and coffee shop

Mission: N/A]

So far, three delicious treats had found themselves travelling towards Jason's pit of a stomach, along with a boiling hot coffee that burnt his tongue. Though each was no better than the last, he found himself enjoying them more and more with each little bite he took—'little' being a third of its entirety. There were several awaiting consumption, and he did plan on granting their wishes as time floated by aimlessly.

What was he doing here?

Picking up the most appealing doughnut left, one adorning pink icing and assorted colours of sprinkles, he sighs into it before clamping his teeth shut to viciously rip it apart. Today had been uneventful, fruitless in every single way and, overall, really dull for the vigilante. Roy won't even answer his texts, so socialisation is out of the question—except, maybe, the brief encounters he has with the ladies on their shift. You gotta order food /somehow/. Besides, it's not like he actually said much. He didn't feel like answering the cute little giggles or the 'how's your day been going?' right now. They were all too draining of his energy at the minute.

Soon, he muses, school children will be flooding the shop with their parents and relatives. The small, grimy little hands attached to their bodies will press up against the glass cases because, according to their still-developing brains, it helps them see the variety of crap available for them to be gifted a whole lot easier.

"Daddy! I want this one!" He can already see the little ankle-biters tugging on jeans and making puppy-dog eyes. It's mildly disgusting.

The streets are quiet—a calm before the storm, obviously. The occasional car or truck rolls by, and there have been a few elderly couples taking a nice stroll to breathe in the smog Gotham offers, but otherwise, the world is a ghost town. In fact, if it weren't from the hushed whispering of the girls at the back and the low hum of electricity, he would think something is terribly wrong; he'd assume some kind of invasion or mass murder was raging itself across his beautiful city. It's almost a pity that isn't the case... he could use the distraction right about now. Turning his head with a sharp exhale from his nostrils, Jason catches one of the girls wiping the glass displaying cakes, confectionary and coffee prices. Her uniform—the one that's the exact same for every employee, he gathers—fits her curves tightly, much like a flashy dress someone would wear to the club. Additionally, it appears as if she's pressing her rear out a bit too much to be purely accidental.

Too bad he likes men better. He might've taken the hint with a subtle response, otherwise.

Watching the way her hand swirls the cloth around in neat, repetitive circles, he allows himself to enter a trance for a few precious moments. Her red nails are heavily contrasting the green, wet fabric underneath them, and it vaguely reminds him of the major holiday coming up in a few months—Christmas. When the girl returns her posture to something vertical, his item of hyper-focus is impaired; no longer can he stare like a mindless zombie.

She gives him a small smile and waves with the opposite hand, but his eyes are drawn to something very specific about her, thus leading to the action remaining unseen. On her shirt, at the top of the left breast, is the shop's logo. Except it /isn't/ this shop's logo, it's something else entirely with... is that Russian writing? Jason's eyes subtly widen. Something smelt fishy all of a sudden, and he knew it couldn't be whatever was being brewed or sold, because this was a coffee shop/bakery last time he checked, not some weird, worthless business.

To cover up the scrutiny (though it was kind of pointless, seeing as they purposely wanted bad attention, by the looks of it), he pretended to be admiring the items in which the incorrect logo was placed, glancing upwards to wink at the lady after a few more seconds. She seemed pleased, though a small twitch in the muscle of her mouth told Jason that she was either aware of his realisation or disgusted by his blatant 'staring.' Regardless, he felt his heart rate going up a few anxious beats, and his hands trembled to reach for his weapons. Unfortunately, they weren't on his personnel; he's out in full-on civilian clothing for a change.

A plan. He needed to formulate a plan of action. There could be some kind of innocent mistake here, but his instincts beg to differ by raising the hair on his arms. These ladies were up to something dangerously sinister, and he'd need his gear if he wanted to confront them with a minimal chance of gaining any injuries. Plus, the capabilities of these threats are unknown; for all he knows, they could have laser cannons stationed in their butts! He needs his tools to deal with this situation.

Quietly standing up with a blank expression covering his facial features, Jason leaves with his hands burrowing into the pockets of his leather jacket, the trusty ol' article of clothing he's had for a great many years. The walk to his apartment would not be a very long one, but every minute counts—arriving too late could mean the lives of innocent school kids were lost. Parents, too.

[Time: 1512

Location: Home

Mission: Save kids from potentially evil Russian women]

When he wants to be, Red Hood can be extremely fast. Running through his kitchen and living room to burst into his bedroom, he's practically harbouring the speed force right now. The combination to his safe is the same as always, so he need not even think before entering it. By now, it's just second nature. Upon pressing enter, a large panel in his west bedroom wall clicks, revealing two small grooves on the rightmost side. Utilising them as a door handle, he slides the white 'wall' into a thin slot on his left and reveals the iconic armour he bears when fighting crime. In perfect condition, his helmet stares back at him, reflecting his own face upon its sleek surface. Gun holsters hang on hooks, weapons are carefully placed in foam moulds to prevent damage and assorted tools are stationed on horizontal rows of shelving.

Ah, his /precious/ gear.

Slipping into his suit—not unlike a slithery snake—at the speed of light, he grabs the usual holsters and does them up around his hips, taking a brief moment to adjust the straps to a more comfortable level. Guns, a grappling hook and a few other nifty pieces of equipment are grabbed before the secret room is abandoned entirely. There's no time to prepare anything else; doing so may just be wasting precious time he can never seem to get enough of. Jason slams the enter button again, knowing it can definitely take his pointy finger jabbing it with extreme force, and uses the emergency ladder outside his kitchen window to escape the apartment.

Gotham greets him with the familiar air. He breathes it in gratefully—smog, dust particles and all. Most would find it unfavourable when considering there's fresh air in the countryside, but he wouldn't trade it for anything else. This is the air he was born in. It's the air he was buried and revived in. It is the air that helped ground him when the Lazarus Pit's fever could be smelt in the sweat on his skin. Those were not very fun days—downright terrible was that entire experience.

A leaky tap wishes him good luck by dripping some more water. Little over a month ago, he had attacked it with a screwdriver and some assorted tools to try and fix the issues it was having, but the effort was in vain. Not only did the annoying appliance continue to wake him up in the early hours of morning when he had come back from patrol, but it had actually gotten worse. Water bills would be skyrocketing, he's sure. Maybe he should just shoot it. Would that fix the problem?

Jason let's the idea slide... for now, at least. There are more important matters to attend to; something as worthless as his sleep quality can wait until the Russians ladies are dealt with. Speaking of which, he really ought to calculate their weaknesses and strengths. It's safe to say that they're human—he can tell fake from real and implanted—but, to be on such an 'incognito' mission targeting someone very specific, they must be well-trained. Moreover, they may be enhanced in some way; serums and implants are pretty standard these days, inconvenient as they are.

Will his doughnuts still be there?

If some little kid has the audacity to eat them during his absence...

[Time: 1518

Location: the streets

Mission: Save kids from potentially evil Russian women and save doughnuts]

Though he had never managed to bring his speeds up to par with Dick Grayson's, Jason Todd was an extremely fast runner. Were he seen by the right people during out-of-costume hours, he'd be offered a place in the Olympics. Naturally, he'd decline, but a great amount of bribery would be shoved in his face—possibly threats, too—to try and convince him of taking up the offer.

Anyway.

The shop is just up ahead and, already, he can tell something is very wrong. Yes, their coffee is /quite/ delicious and the doughnuts are enough to satisfy anyone, but no, it's not worth gawking at from the outside with fear reflecting on the front window. Unholstering an ambidextrous gun from his left thigh, Red Hood, the famous vigilante anti-hero, fires a singular shot into the air while simultaneously coming to a halt a few metres away from the shop's front. People turn and scream as expected; no one really wants to be around once the cavalry arrives—even though they'll stay to watch the villains do their work like it's some kind of toy factory on Christmas Eve. Honestly, the human mind works strangely.

Once everyone had reached a safe distance away from the delicious little bakery, Jason advanced by kicking down the front door. What's the point in entering if you aren't going to be grand? Besides looking like an absolute badass, you install fear into the enemy's hard drive; you let them know that this is no tea party to use fine china in. First impressions matter—the first time being here, as a sad man eating doughnuts obsessively, does not count.

Like he had originally predicted, these girls weren't normal. No sooner than after he stepped foot into the shop, their skin started... Changing. Not in the way it was coloured or how it stretched across their bodies, no, but what it was made out of entirely. Metal. Their limbs were turning into a solid, shiny metal that Jason had a strange feeling about. This would not be a nice metal to get hit by. Observation is an important key to success, so, he takes note of whatever he can. One particularly interesting thing is that each girl seems to have a different part of them changing.

Girl one has her left arm and shoulder, but nothing else.

Girl two with the extra long, sharp nails, is transforming both of her fists. This supplies little stabbing weapons, additionally.

Girl three changes her legs.

Girl four has her entire torso, by the looks of it. 'Looks' meaning that her shirt's physics go a little strange.

Girl five's entire body shifts, plating everything in a silvery colour that blindingly reflects the lights up on the ceiling.

"Alright... Who wants to go first?"

Author's Note: hey, humans! If you'd like to see this be continued, please lemme know by leaving a review annnd maybeee following/favouriting? :3


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